


You are (my favourite fantasy)

by hippoiam



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, M/M, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippoiam/pseuds/hippoiam
Summary: Jaehyun was a simple kid; a broke ass college student with three dollars in his savings account and double helix ramen DNA. Yet, inexplicably, he now owned a Ferrari, three hundred pairs of leather loafers and was engaged to what would inevitably be a moustachioed, beer-bellied businessman with a hand mirror to gaze lovingly at himself in every few hours.This, all in all, is an interdimensional disaster.





	1. Part I: Alternate Universes for Dummies

Jaehyun wakes up in a room that’s not his own.

 

For a moment, he debates whether this is a kidnapping or if he’s been in an episode twelve, whoop-dee-fucking-doo plot twist (!), k-drama car accident which has brought about a particularly bad case of amnesia before the sleep fog wears off just enough for him to remember that right, it was neither, it’s not just the room that’s not his, it’s the city, the country, the entire fucking universe.

 

It has been six days since he’d been tugged from his college life; using hairdryers as microwaves, drinking cheap beer in the corridor with the rest of the dudes on his dorm floor, sneaking into frat parties for free nachos- six days since he was plucked from his shitty bunk bed and hurled into a rich man’s house.

 

Now, his pyjamas were silk, the fridge downstairs had two doors and a donut dispenser. On his first day here he almost knocked out the chauffer with a fruit bowl. He could probably wipe his ass and blow his nose using cash and still have enough to supply a small country for the rest of his life. To put it simply; he went from three shirts on rotation for a decade to three shirts per day in the space of one universe, and he was absolutely hating it.

 

Don’t get him wrong, at first, the luxury had been a novelty. He’d thought; hey, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, he could relax here for a bit, drive a Ferrari, eat some lobsters, sail a yacht before returning back to his financially crippled college life. Except, the initial rush as worn off within the day, especially with the announcement that this Jaehyun was not only a yacht-owning, Ferrari-driving, lobster-eating idiot, but also fucking engaged.

 

Somebody bring him a brick to smash his face into.

 

Six days, six entire days, of waking up at five o’clock each morning to be bustled into an office, signing documents which used more words he didn’t understand than he did. Six days of being driven around in a flashy car which smelt like pine and nice perfume. The life of Jaehyun 2.0 was not an easy one to live despite what people looking at his five drawers of bow ties might think, it was less luxury and more a document filled hell.

 

For a guy who’d been doing a zoology major, running and inevitably bankrupting a company wasn’t particularly high up on his to-do list.  

 

Of course, he’d tried the old passing out trick- woke right back up with three doctors hovering above him as this version of his mother paced holes through the carpet. He tried enchantments from the internet, finding local psychics who looked at him like he was one who was crazy, finding less local psychics, one of which actually decked him. Now, there was nothing left to do except wait it out.

 

This, unfortunately, meant that there is a very high possibility that, instead of this Jaehyun who surely would be far more composed than he was attending his wedding tomorrow, it would be him.

 

If anyone had a swear jar in this house, they would be very rich.

 

Fucking fuckety fuck.

 

 

 

 

Jaehyun was, all in all, a little bit of a loser.

 

He liked binge watching dramas and not doing assignments, like to sleep late and wake up late, the number of people in his contacts list could be counted on two hands. Chittaphon and Yuta were constantly dragging him out of his bed and into the real world, which consisted mostly of swanky karaoke bars and drug-free house parties which were only drug free because nobody could afford them.

 

Yet here, Chittaphon was the heir of an online shopping platform, his father had billions to his name, a bald spot the size of his palm and was on his fifth wife. Jaehyun had googled him with the intention of finding of a Facebook profile only to realise that a, Facebook wasn’t a thing here, and b, he didn’t need it anyways, since his best friend had a plethora of news articles written about him and appeared fourth on the official list of this year’s hottest bachelors.

 

Yuta…

 

Yuta was his groundskeeper.

 

When he first saw Yuta soldiering across the backyard with four planks of wood slung across his shoulders, he almost laughed out loud. Yuta? Working outside? Where there wasn’t a mirror to love himself in front of every five minutes? This must be some sort of cosmic joke.

 

However, he soon came to realise that perhaps, if he was different between this universe and the next, then everybody else must be as well. This Yuta was far quieter than his own, rough, calloused hands instead of smooth, a sharper face, keener eyes. It was a little disconcerting, to look at someone whom you’d puked up mashed sweet potatoes on and have it not be them.

 

“Good morning, young ma-” Yuta’s face twitches as he corrects himself, “Jaehyun.”

 

“Morning,” comes the hoarse reply, Jaehyun’s face is sleep swollen and his hair looks like he’d recently been put through a small cyclone. There’s ink blots all over his hands from last night when he’d attempted to begin a small journal to leave this version of him after he’s left, only to find that all the pens in the house were fountain pens.

 

Yuta must have great adaptive skills, since he’d stopped looking quite so flabbergasted at the sight of rumpled, less-than-put-together Jaehyun in the morning and instead returned the smile he was given, albeit a little hesitantly.

 

The coffee machines whirls, they stand in the kitchen, there’s a comfortable silence.

 

“Uh,” Yuta begins, clearing his throat and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “your wedding is soon.” He doesn’t say tomorrow, though he must know, Jaehyun scowls at his mug.

 

“I can’t believe people actually get into arranged marriages.” He groans, aggressively taking a bite out of his toast. “Who the fuck wrote the script for this drama?”

 

For a moment, Yuta almost looks pleased, although for him anything more than slightly murderous can constitute as ‘pleased’, but then his familiar downturned lips, furrowed brows return and he looks down.

 

“It is a beneficial marriage, your husband is quite…” his jaw ticks, “ambitious.”

 

Ambition generally didn’t top of the list of qualities Jaehyun wanted his future spouse to have, but what the hell- it wasn’t him getting married after all. He wasn’t the one who was going to have to spend the rest of his life with a pot-bellied, moustachioed business tycoon. Or at least, he hoped.

 

“You know who he is, then,” he remarks, forcefully conversational. It would be slightly suspicious if it was revealed that he did not, in fact, know who his fiancé was, but nobody seemed to be falling for his less than subtle attempts at weaselling it out of them without giving himself away.

 

Yuta, similarly, doesn’t either.

 

“Of course.”

 

The reply is simple, curt and devastated. It was not, however, helpful.

 

 

 

 

 

In a fashion typical of Jaehyun, on the morning of his wedding day, he oversleeps.

 

Oops, he thinks as his mother bursts into the room at half past seven, expecting for him to be dressed and ready to go only to find him dead asleep, limbs dangling off the edge of the bed even when three quarters of it was not in use as a force of habit, drooling a little.

 

“Jung Jaehyun!” She drags him up by the ears, red lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Jaehyun cowers under her gaze and scrambles.

 

“Morning,” he attempts a charming smile, she raises both eyebrows in mild surprise, but doesn’t comment. Everybody in the household think that he’s either been possessed or was on some medication that turned him into a nutjob, but nobody cared. As long as his head was still on his neck, then he was ready to be wrapped up and presented to his soon-to-be-husband, no shits given about possible demonic activity.  

 

She throws a shirt at him, “get dressed, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

 

Then he could probably sleep for another ten, is what he doesn’t say, instead, he obediently shuffles into the bathroom, clutching the clothes to his chest.

 

These days, when he looks in the mirror, he gets an eerie chill down his spine. The face looking back at him holds uncanny resemblance to his own, but at the same time is distinctly not him. His skin is smoother, less pimple marks and sun spots, paler too, almost sickly so, probably courtesy of the spf 50+ sunscreen he found in his drawers. There’s no tiny scar above his eyebrow from that time when he got in the way of an aggressive paper aeroplane, no pathetic, patchy facial hair dotting his perineum, no black heads. It was like looking at a version of himself with all the flaws erased; a terrifying and strange out-of-body experience.

 

What was much more terrifying, however; was his mother.

 

By the time he heads out of the house and into the car, she’s already made five phone calls and drunk two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, all the while fixing his cow lick and collar with a frown. Here, Mrs Jung was a businesswoman, all smart suits and tablets, smart synonyms and cool composure. His father had yet to make an appearance, which made him severely suspect that perhaps this was a subject matter he shouldn’t touch on.

 

It was an abrupt change from his own family, who owned a chicken store in the outskirts of Seoul and lived life by the day.

 

Yet the swift progression of the space curved around him leaves little time for thought, for homesickness. In a second he’s being shoved into the car and then it’s off to the church, off to his wedding, off to the rest of his life.

 

 

 

 

 

Down the aisle, there stands what can only be described as a sexy beast.

 

Jaehyun notes this as soon as the doors swing open and the bridal march begins. Somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, perhaps, with eyebrows that could conquer a continent- a sexy beast indeed.

 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know he would be marrying a guy, but seeing just exactly who this guy is still takes him by surprise. He’d been expecting an older dude, probably with a shiny bald spot and moustache that he could twirl as he planned Jaehyun’s demise, not… this.

 

_What a hunk_ , his brain supplies as he nears the alter. Unhelpfully, if he might add. His lack of spare time and willpower made his sex life, well, non-existent. Biologically, whether this body was a virgin or not he didn’t know (and didn’t particularly want to find out) but he’d only contacted porn and Chittaphon’s wang dangling out as he strutted around the dorms unashamedly, never actual sex. Now that he was faced with the terrifying prospect of rooming with sex personified, he’ll admit, it’s a little daunting.

 

The man’s eyebrows twitch, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in disgust as Jaehyun stumbles up the stairs to stand before him. He goes for a smile that says ‘hey, it’s cool that we’re getting married, I mean, I’m cool with it, I hope you’re cool with it too I guess’ but probably makes him look like he just smashed his head on a wall and was still seeing stars. His husband-that-will-be-in-ten-minutes-or-so ignores it completely and turns to the officiant.

 

Wow, what a Cool Boi™, Jaehyun’s lips twitch, did this guy actually think he was the male lead out of some sort of shitty fanfiction, playing at that cool exterior heart of gold shit. Jaehyun has read many stories with the arranged marriage trope in his past life, he was (almost) a seasoned professional.

 

“Today we gather in celebration-”

 

_What_ , he thinks, and zones out.

 

He thinks about his Yuta; how he would be laughing out a six pack if he ever saw Jaehyun wearing all of their college tuitions on his finger getting married to a guy he didn’t even know existed until today. It brings a bitter little taste to his mouth and a pang of homesickness to his stomach. Suddenly, he feels nauseous. He doesn’t want to be here. He’s not _supposed_ to be here. He doesn’t want the yachts and the lobsters and the fucking Ferraris, he wants his shitty dorms back, he wants his mum to text him pictures of Song Joong Ki captioned ‘your dad’, he wants to be back home eating leftovers at two o’clock, not doing his assignments until the night before they’re due, watching dramas until sunrise.

 

The officiant asks a question. His husband-to-be-in-three-seconds says, short and sharp, “I do.”

 

Jaehyun pukes on his shoes.

 

 

 

 

When he gets home that night, Yuta is in the kitchen. The suit he’d worn to the wedding is a little askew, the top buttons undone, slacks loosened. When he hears Jaehyun pad into the room, he smiles; there’s something different about this smile from his usual stoic barely there lip twitch. It’s all teeth and gum, vibrant colour exploding across his face. Jaehyun’s heart pounds; once, twice.

 

“You’re married,” he says, and he sounds absolutely ecstatic, “and you hate him.”

 

“Uh,” comes Jaehyun’s eloquent reply. He manages to draw no conclusions as to why Yuta looks like somebody gave him a basket of puppies, and stands there frozen in his position half reaching out for a cup, blinking rapidly.

 

Yuta approaches him in quick strides, backing him up against the cupboard and gripping his chin with strong, calloused fingers. His voice is barely a breath brushed against Jaehyun’s ear as he murmurs, “remember what you promised.”

 

Before he could blurt out something completely stupid like ‘god I’ve been in love with you for years please do me now’, Yuta is gone and finally, a couple of Jaehyun’s IQ points returns. Right, of course, he blinks, this is not the same guy that he’s harboured unspoken and unrequited feelings for since second grade when he’d accidentally called the older ‘mum’, this was Yuta the groundskeeper, Yuta with better muscles but a much worse temper, Yuta who emoted about as much as a dead bit of seaweed.

 

Thinking about this, for a moment, almost makes him forget about his husband-that-was-since-five-hours-ago (addendum: a disastrous five hours ago).

 

Following his dramatic projectile vomiting all over his beau, there had immediately been five people who rushed over to clean up the mess and escort him out of the room. Five hundred eyes on him as he shuffled back down the aisle, stopping once to wave at Yuta who’d been gaping at him open mouthed. Within half an hour, there’d been no speck of dirt on the ground, his suit had been changed, and the bridal march started once again as the audience dutifully pretended nothing had ever happened.

 

Easier said than done, of course, but a few glasses of expensive champagne later people stopped shooting him furtive looks.

 

After the ceremony, he and his husband, whose name he’d missed as he was too busy launching his breakfast into the air, were separated to greet guests. He floated around the room to various people to politely thank them for coming, some looked at him after his initial ‘hello’ expectantly as though waiting for him to call their name, however, the fact that he didn’t actually know any of these people’s names and therefore could only stand there in utter silence before someone realises that he had nothing else to say and relieves them of their awkwardness by making casual comment about the food made the overall experience very poor.

 

After the struck midnight, the guests begun trickling away bit by bit. Jaehyun wasn’t too sure if he was expected to go home with his husband or if the marriage was by name only. Before someone else could inform him, he’d caught Yuta leaving the hall and booked it the fuck out of there before he was really forced to go and play house with a man who he’d puked on their wedding day.

 

Now, at two o’clock, in bed, his mother was calling his phone nonstop.

 

He picks up after the third ring, a little afraid for his life.

 

“Jung Jaehyun!” Comes the thundering bellow that could put out half the lights in the city. Jaehyun pulls the speaker away from his ear.

 

“Mother dearest,” he greets sweetly, hoping to cushion his fall into wrath with a little sugar.

 

“Where are you?” It doesn’t work, she still sounds murderous. “Youngho has been waiting for you for an hour now.”

 

Youngho.

 

God.

 

He was married to a Youngho.

 

What a thought.

 

“I will be right there,” he hurries to amend, not knowing exactly how he was going to get there, since the buses stopped running ages ago, but saying anything else will earn him a scolding that could peel the first three layers of his skin off, so he’d rather sprint through the dark back to the venue than disagree.

 

There’s a brief muffled conversation on the other side before his mother sighs into the speaker.

 

“Jaehyun, if you’re already at home then don’t bother coming. Youngho will pick you up tomorrow morning.” With that, she hangs up, leaving the dial tone to remind Jaehyun of the utter absurdity of it all.

 

 

 

 

“I’ve got a box,” is the first thing Jaehyun says to his husband.

 

It’s not particularly romantic, but he figures romance was dead after the fiasco that was the wedding anyways and instead aims a greasy smile at the tall, straight faced sex god that looks back at him blankly.

 

‘A box’ is an accurate summary of what he’s taking to his new home. In the twenty something years of this life, Jaehyun had accumulated mountains of watches and bags and ties. That wardrobe looked like the mob boss that ran the town that his own wardrobe, which generally consisted of hoodies he’d worn since freshman year and jeans that started out un-ripped but went mainstream unintentionally round about 09’, lived in.

 

“Yes, you do,” Youngho replies slowly, arching an eyebrow and lifting the trunk of his car with a single hand. _Drool,_ the signals from Jaehyun’s brain to salivary glands send, replaying the slight tensing of those muscles on an infinitely long mental loop.

 

“Cool,” says Jaehyun, and from then on there’s utter silence as they put his stuff in the car and drive towards the inevitable doom of married life.

 

The house they arrive at is not as ostentatious as Jaehyun believed it would be. It was a modest flat, all edges and lines and geometric shapes. There were no pictures on the walls, no little decorations here and there to reveal just who Youngho was; it almost looked like a house off a budget modernist magazine, if not for the little face poking out from behind the sofa.

 

“Fuck yes!” Jaehyun screams; screams, mind you, low pitched and with dignity. Screams, not squeals. Jaehyun does not squeal.

 

For a moment, a flicker of surprise crosses Youngho’s face, betraying the nonchalance he’d been trying hard to display since he came out of his mother’s womb analysing stock potential and doing college calculus.

 

The dog sticks its tongue out sideways ecstatically at the sight of Jaehyun’s outstretched arms and wide smile, realising that the newcomer wasn’t planning to take away his treats and murder his buddy Big Ho, he scrambles out of his hiding place and leaps forward. A collision between an eighty pound fluff machine and six foot idiot occurs in a nanosecond. Youngho can only watch as his husband begins baby talking his dog, sounding far more affectionate than he had when he’d shakily recited his vows the day before.

 

“His name is Bilbo,” Youngho says gruffly. His recollection of Jaehyun from the few times they’d met was appearing to be complete bullshit. The suit-donned, slightly cold, rigid second generation rich boy with the slicked back hair and attitude was nothing like the slightly dopey idiot in front of him.

 

“Sweet,” he coos, scratching him behind the ears, “hi Bilbo.”

 

Haughty by nature and difficult to please, Bilbo started to shy away from strangers after hitting his first birthday, losing all the puppy enthusiasm and curiosity. All in all, he was a dog that would much rather be left alone by everyone except Youngho, who he grudgingly tolerated because of the food. Yet, now he was on his back, tail wagging as he demands a belly rub, Youngho hadn’t seen him do that since, well, ever.  

Standing there, Youngho is at a slight loss, he hadn’t expected Jaehyun to like pets. Indifference was what he’d been hoping for, which was much better than flat out hatred or fear. During his more bitter moments, he’d resentfully considered what he would do if his husband asked him to give Bilbo away. This mostly ended with Jaehyun on the streets, drowning in a thousand expensive watches.

 

“I’ve got to get back to work in half an hour, will you be fine on your own?” Finally, Jaehyun looks up at him, blinking slowly as though realising that he was still in the room. This does not make Youngho feel particularly great, but he pushes the discomfort down firmly, there was no reason to care, after all, what or whom his husband gave his attention to.

 

“Yeah, of course, point me to the bedroom, I’ll go put away my stuff.”

 

‘The bedroom’ he says, neither ‘my bedroom’ nor ‘our bedroom’, a careful test of what Youngho’s stance was on this union. In all honesty, after years of cramming into the same single bed with Yuta and Chittaphon, both of whom were huge blanket hogs and shameless about their morning wood, he didn’t have any reservations about sharing a bed with Youngho. Come on, he was a healthy, warm blooded mammal in his prime, getting up close and personal with a stud muffin like Youngho was pretty much all his teenage wet dreams come true. If they were going to be sharing a bed, then, yes please. If they weren’t then, well, disappointing, but not devastatingly so.

 

“Our bedroom,” Youngho’s eyebrows twitch, he stresses the ‘our’, obviously picking up on Jaehyun’s unspoken question, “is the second door to the left.” He gestures down the hallway, a small, cold smile gracing his face.

 

“Nice,” goes Jaehyun’s mouth.

 

Cool, goes Jaehyun’s brain.

 

FUCK YEAH, WOOHOO- TIME TO GET SOME LOVIN RUBBIN BETWEEN THE SHEETS BABY, goes Jaehyun’s dick.

 

Out of the three, Jaehyun thinks he’s much more inclined to listen to his penis. After all, Junior has never led him astray before.

 

(Of course, he’s soon to learn, there’s a first for everything.)


	2. Part II: Marriage for Dummies

Part II: Marriage for Dummies

 

Married life is… not what Jaehyun expected.

 

For one, they had several RIMs (reproductive isolating mechanisms) working between them, such as the fact that Jaehyun’s work required him to work late into the night whilst Youngho was a fan of waking up at the ass crack of dawn and going to sleep at ten like a responsible, functioning adult.  

 

The only time they see each other face to face is in the evenings, in the hour between Youngho coming home and going to sleep. During then, there’s polite greetings exchanged and a short, generic conversation about each other’s days before Youngho shuffles back to the bedroom and Jaehyun stays in the kitchen to stare at documents written in archaic Korean.  

 

‘Company finances are going well’ his mother had said over the phone last week, ‘you’re doing better than I thought’.

 

Great, except all he was doing is signing shit that he was asked to sign, it was Taeyong, a small, unsmiling man who acted like the ceiling was going to crush him if he slowed down from a sharp jog to a normal paced walk, who did all the things that required more skills than writing his name.

 

Jaehyun sighs- _it has been eighty-four years_.

 

Strictly speaking, incorrect- it’s actually only been three months since his puke filled tragedy of wedding- although to be fair it does sort of feel like eighty-four years. The charmless, repetitive schedule they’ve settled wordlessly in is even worse than his morning class filled college career, which is saying something, since those eight a.m. lectures had removed most of his brain cells and replaced them with Red Bull.

 

Yet, the polite distance between them was drawing closer by the day. This was, all in all, mainly attributed to the fact that Jaehyun didn’t understand the term boundaries. When you’ve barged in on someone taking a shower and commented ‘hot damn’ shamelessly while their love sausage swayed in the breeze, ‘polite distance’ just doesn’t seem to cut it.  

 

“I’m doing the laundry tomorrow; you have anything you need washed?” The head that pokes through the doorway is, well, fucking perfect, Youngho’s hair is still wet from his shower, the water droplets glistening on his deep fried chicken nugget bronze skin and…. Jaehyun’s IQ is offline again. It’s as though it were his fault he wasn’t predisposed with a natural defence against hunks like Youngho- he can’t help it.

 

“Uh…” _gulp_.

 

With a slightly twitch of the lips, which he’d learnt now signified amusement, the elder steps fully into the room for the first time, cautiously padding across the carpet to stand behind him at his desk, “what are you working on?”

 

This new form of interaction was not doing anything great to Jaehyun’s poor, poor heart (or his poor, poor dick, for that matter) and he gazes up a little adoringly as he answers, “some stuff for work. Doesn’t matter. You’re really hot.”

 

At first, when he made throwaway compliments at Youngho, the dude had gone the colour of a crushed tomato and would avoid direct eye contact for, if it had gone the way he preferred, the rest of his life. Back home, when he’d told Yuta he was handsome or a dreamboat or, his personal favourite, a sexy snuggle factory, Yuta had only rolled his eyes or threatened to deck him. Yet this six foot something man who not only was pushing thirty but also married to him acted like a primary schooler having their first online relationship with a fellow COD player.

 

“That shirt looks nice,” he’ll say and Youngho will be running for the hills.

 

“Your hair is really soft,” he’ll say and Youngho will scream into a pillow for an hour.

 

“I think I really like you,” he’ll say and Youngho might actually throw himself out of a closed window, subsequently opening it (by smashing it).

 

Of course, he’s never said any of that to Youngho’s face in fear that he’ll spontaneously combust into a million flecks of stud muffin from emotional constipation, but he’s thought about it a lot- about how after Yuta he didn’t really think he could feel much more for anybody else, about how Youngho was just so hard to talk to but so easy to be with, about how great it would be if he could dip him into a bathtub of cheese like he was a breadstick then lick it off him.

 

It feels almost like a betrayal of the largely unrequited crush he’d harboured on his best friend for the previous decade and a half. Like he was giving up on something important; but honestly, he was just tired. Tired of ugly sobbing in the guest room when he missed home, tired of loving someone from another life. He didn’t particularly want this one either, but now he has it so, fuck it. He’s just going to fucking riot, he’s just going to let himself be happy now.

 

 

 

 

Easier said than done, really, since Youngho was about as happy as a box of used tissues.

 

“We should go out somewhere,” Jaehyun watches him do the dishes from his position on the couch, laptop balanced precariously on his knees as he twists to observe his husband in his natural habitat; hard at work and ignoring him.

 

“Neither of us can afford to take a day off,” as to be expected, Youngho immediately shoots the idea down.

 

“I’ll wake up early, do my work in the day, we can go at night,” remaining undeterred, he abandons his half-finished report on the coffee table and bounds up to the sink, “it’ll be a blast, come on, come on, come on. For kicks, yeah?”

 

His words seem to evoke some sort of misplaced fondness in Youngho, he finishes stacking the last plate and turns to regard him softly, “you talk like you’re still in college sometimes.”

 

That might be because, despite his absolutely overwhelming maturity and sense of responsibility deeper than the Maraina Trench, he’s still just a college bro at heart.

 

“Okay,” Youngho concedes, a strong blush roaring to life on his face as he notices how close they’re standing and way Jaehyun had stretched up so they were nose to nose, attempting to use his foolproof intimidation tactic of ‘staring’ (pronounced ‘starr-ing’ as in ‘sparring’ but purely mental) to get him to agree.

 

The agreement causes a wave of cheers to erupt, Jaehyun begins waving his arms around like a baboon getting his first girlfriend, and Bilbo jumps up from where he’d been lazing around to join in on the excitement. There hadn’t been so much noise in Youngho’s apartment since 2008 when his entire family came over for a housewarming party, how can one and a half people be making as much sound as ten?

 

“We can watch a sunrise on the beach and be romantic with each other.” Just as he was humming ‘you are my destiny under his breath’, Jaehyun’s phone begins to ring obnoxiously from somewhere deep inside the flat, as he scurries off to search for it, he catches the bashful smile Youngho aims at the tiled floor and decides that happy looks good on him.

 

They end up going the Friday afterwards.

 

After dragging himself out of bed at eight and looking into the mirror to lament why his fate had reverted back into his morning lecture life, Jaehyun sits in front of his keyboard and hammers out the shittiest report that has ever been written and takes comfort in the fact that it would be extensively edited (read: rewritten) by Taeyong before it was submitted to the Big Bosses. There’s a thesaurus open on one tab and a photo of a broccoli wearing a cheerleading uniform on another for moral support.

 

Eight o’clock rolls around, he hits send on his email, Youngho comes home, and then they’re out of the house on the near empty streets, taking an hour and a half long stroll to the beach.

 

“What are you doing?” Youngho asks in exasperation as Jaehyun begins to walk backwards, snapping photographs of him and Bilbo.

 

“I’m sending these to Taeyong,” he waves his phone around, almost hitting it on a lamppost. In the picture. Youngho looks like the male lead out of an old film noir movie, all trench coats and silent brooding, Bilbo, on the other hand, is derping hard as he sticks his tongue out, eyeing a nearby rubbish bin in intense concentration, “I need someone to be a witness to our first date.”

 

“This is…” a date? The question is left unsaid, but Jaehyun can tell that he’s pleased by the way he looks away to hide his minute lip twitch.

 

They make it to the beach at around one a.m, it’s far too dark to do anything, so they sit by the edge of the water, the place where the wet sand stops and new things start, the boundary between here and there, between the solid geometry of concrete behind them, and the uncertainty of the ocean in front.

 

By the time the sun begins to rise, Jaehyun had already came crashing down from his midnight high blasting off twenty questions in a minute, flicking shells at Youngho’s chest and had passed out on the sand, Youngho’s coat is draped over his shoulders as he mumbles incoherently in his sleep. When he wakes up, its already seven.

 

“You missed the sunrise,” blinking blearily as the world comes into focus, Jaehyun takes a while to process the teasing statement.

 

“That’s okay,” he says when his brain to mouth wire reconnects. He grins, beams really, reaching out so that their hands were closer together, “I dreamt about something better.”

 

 

 

 

‘Something better’ inevitably, was about to come crashing down all round.

 

Perhaps it was just his fate, really, whether in this life or the last, his background changed, his personality changed, hell, even the symmetry of his nipples changed. The one thing that did not, however, was his melodrama-worthy relationship with Yuta.

 

The guy is in his apartment, he’s got a black t-shirt on, there’s a tear on the left sleeve. He’s still really handsome, Jaehyun might still be in love with him, or a guy that looks like him, anyways. It’s obviously not his Yuta, since that one never looked at him as anything other than an overgrown, greasy puppy trotting behind him asking for hugs, and this one was…

 

Furiously making out with him?

 

One moment he’d been standing there, leaning against the doorframe as they make small talk. The next he was up against the wall, door slamming shut behind them as Yuta cups his face and presses in closer. He’s frozen, hands slamming on the wall and he tries to get a grip on his frazzled synapses. Okay, one plus one equals two, the sun is hot, the grass is green and Jaehyun… Jaehyun might have been loving the dude in that hot bod for at least forever, but now he was married so he’s going to push away in three, two, one.

 

The hard shove sends Yuta stumbling back a few steps.

 

“Bro!” Jaehyun’s holler makes him flinch. It was perhaps the first time Yuta had ever heard him raise his voice, usually, when Jaehyun was mad, he’d immediately turn and give you the cold shoulder, ignoring your texts and calls for as long as he could go until he needed someone to bring him food. Yet today his cheeks were flushed in a mixture of anger and slight embarrassment, arms windmilling around fast enough to generate electricity for a family of four. The dramatic fury was a good look on him, Yuta thinks.

 

“Why are you here? Wait, don’t answer that. Why did you kiss me? No, don’t answer that either. You should leave before I deck you, why would you kiss someone who’s married. I know I’m a babe magnet but somebody already put a ring on it. _Uh-uh._ Please keep a one point five metre distance away from me,” he takes a deliberate step backwards when Yuta attempts to reach out. A flicker of hurt confusion crosses his face.

 

“Are you mad?” He asks helplessly, “is that why you’re doing this, because I didn’t try hard enough? You know I wanted to, Jaehyun, hell, I wanted to drag you from the aisle at the church, but I can’t. I can’t. Please tell me you understand.”

 

The pieces click into place. Jaehyun 2.0 and Yuta 2.0 were, what, lovers, boyfriends, _in love_? That was just fucking ironic.

 

“I’m not- I, no, what, I mean- I-” once the stuttering begins, Yuta’s expression melts into one of utmost adoration.

 

“Oh, love,” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

 

This was right about when a tearful hug was supposed to occur, but Jaehyun turns it into a thump on the back bro-hug, letting out an awkward bark of laughter.

 

“Give me two years,” Yuta whispers, hot breath swirling into Jaehyun’s ears and down, down, down into the corner of his lungs where all the oxygen he’d saved for Yuta was kept, “two years is all I’m asking for, I’ll do better, I’ll become somebody your parents think is worth loving you. I’ll come back for you, Jaehyun. Wait for me.”

 

Jaehyun has been waiting all his life for Yuta.

 

Not this one though, this one’s not his, this one belongs with someone else. This one, he’s learnt, loves the idea of Jaehyun so much that he hasn’t even noticed that the person standing in front of him is not Jaehyun anymore.

 

 

 

 

_Does Youngho know?_

Jaehyun has become a little paranoid.

 

From the second the key turns in the front door and Youngho steps in, he’s been jittery and jumpy, as though someone was about to hurl themselves through the window holding a placard with a blurry picture of him and Yuta captioned: ‘Suck it Youngho, he cheated on you’.

 

It is one of the rare days when they manage to squeeze in a short dinner together, nothing special, just noodles, but it always feels special when they eat at the same table. A shame, really, that Jaehyun can’t stop looking at the wall and thinking about how it felt to be making out with someone who he’d always believed was going to be the love of his life.

 

“I kissed someone,” he blurts just as Youngho swallows a spoonful of soup.

 

The reply is nonchalant, almost, if not for the subtle clench of his jaw; so subtle, in fact, that nobody else except Jaehyun would have noticed it, because Jaehyun looks at hot guys as a hobby, and Youngho is the hottest guy.

 

“I know.”

 

“And you’re… cool with it?” That question is met with a pair of raised eyebrows, as sarcastic as eyebrows could be.

 

“Funnily enough, I must say that I am not,” he stands up, for the first time emoting more than a slightly changed angle of the lips, “it won’t happen again, Jaehyun. I am fully aware that this marriage is not to your liking, nor mine, but I will be faithful to you regardless, and I expect you to extend the same courtesy to me.”

 

Damn, that shit was cold, Jaehyun feels like the room has just been submerged in Artic waters, sub-zero temperatures freezing everything except for the burning love for piña coladas he has in his heart.

 

“Uh, yeah man, it’s cool, we’re cool, that’s…” he should stop using the word cool, “cool.”

 

A curt nod, chair pushed in, no eye contact, Youngho spits out through gritted teeth, “glad that we are at a mutual understanding.”

 

There’s almost a tinge of disappointment in his voice, like he was hoping for something else. Youngho was hard to pry open sometimes, closing off behind a front of apathy so thick that one might mistake it for all there is to see. He didn’t seem to want to be loved, but- fuck it, Jaehyun was going to love him anyways.

 

Fact is, falling in love is actually pretty easy.

 

Falling in love with the husband of a different version of you who had been involved with a version of someone who you yourself had been in love with is actually… pretty easy.

 

Going to bed at three in the morning, creeping past your own bed and cuddling up to said husband in his is also pretty easy.

 

“Youngho,” he leans over and blows a gentle stream of wind against his cheek, smiling in satisfaction when there’s no reaction, he swings a leg up around his waist, planting his face in the middle of Youngho’s back. Spooning is a fun marital activity.

 

“Sorry, Youngie,” he mumbles into the elder’s shirt, closing his eyes and pressing in closer affectionately, “this marriage is to my liking, Seo McDreamy. You’re so awesome, how could it not be?” There’s a second of silence that makes him think that perhaps Youngho really had gone to sleep and wasn’t deliberately ignoring him out of spite, but the soft, bemused sigh gives him away.

 

“I’m awake, you know?” Somebody record that rumbly, sleep-deepened voice and put it on Soundcloud as a mixtape, this type of art deserves to be shared with the world. There’s no way to tell if he’s still mad or if he’d slept it off, but there’s no knife being aimed at his genitals right now, so Jaehyun figures he’s safe.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he lifts his head and perches his chin on Youngho’s shoulder, “I kind of really like you.” The words are no louder than an exhale, but they thunder through the room regardless, galloping around the pillows, trumpeting out the window. It seemed as though the entirety of Asia would now know that Jung Jaehyun had sexy, love feelings about Seo Youngho.

 

For a moment, Youngho is dead still, muscles coiled like a panther right before the kill. Then, he flips around on the bed, crushing Jaehyun underneath him with an oomph and burying his face into the pillow below them.

 

“Go to sleep,” he says gruffly, but to Jaehyun and anybody with two brain cells to rub together, it sounds like a resounding and decisive, ‘I kind of really like you too’.

 

 

 

 

Of course, the problem remains that Yuta seems to think that his refusal to make babies with him is attributed to his anger at the fact that he didn’t whisk him off during the wedding instead of a, a biological incapability and b, the fact that okay, fine, looking at him still sort of aches a little bit because you don’t just fall out of love with someone who you’d been in love with for more than a decade, but cheating on your husband is a sure way to earn yourself a first in the face from your mum, and his mum was someone whose fist you didn’t want in your face- she wore many, many rings.

 

They see each other at a charity gala the next week.

 

Yuta is wearing an ill-fitting black suit, but fuck if he doesn’t look better than ninety nine percent of the people here wearing his entire college tuition. For a moment, the crowd parts and they lock eyes, then an older gentleman steps in to shake his hand and congratulate him on closing the deal in China and his heart stops beating quite so irregularly.

 

Somewhere between one speech and the next, Jaehyun feels his third glass of fruit punch catch up on his bladder and he squeezes Youngho’s hand and inclines his head to the exit to let him know he was going. Slipping through the crowd, he makes it about halfway to a urinal before a hand grabs him and drags him into a stall.

 

“Motherfu-” voice muffled by calloused hands, Jaehyun looks down and almost has a heart failure, praying that he doesn’t pee himself.

 

“Shhhh, love, it’s just me.”

 

‘Just me’ is not an accurate assessment of this situation, Jaehyun needs a spaceship to abduct him right about now, or maybe, if worse comes to worse, he might be able to flush himself down this toilet.

 

“Dude,” he opens his mouth, then closes it just as quickly.

 

Wait, halt, stop; this isn’t even his life. This guy isn’t his boyfriend, Youngho isn’t his husband. If one day he wakes up in his own bunk bed, Chittaphon’s sock in his face, then what happens? This Jaehyun would come home to a relationship with someone he might just despise and a fucking destroyed one with the guy he actually likes.

 

“I really need to go pee,” he finishes weakly.

 

For a split second, Yuta looks taken aback, but as soon as it’s here it shifts to laughter, the uncontrollable kind that has him gripping onto Jaehyun so hard it might just leave bruises. What’s so hilarious about needing to urinate, Jaehyun has no idea, but to each their own, he supposes, that kid Mark that lived down the hall from him seemed to find the sight of ramen exceptionally humorous, although that could have just been because he spent his entire first semester looking like one.

 

“Go, then,” finally, he’s free to let it hang, taking as long as physically possible to avoid the confrontation that had yet to come. Jaehyun sucked dick at confrontation, he’d much rather just avoid a problem until eventually it goes away, but that doesn’t seem to work well for some things, like flea infestations, or eczema, or Yuta Nakamoto.

 

This problem is inter-dimensional, following him out of his own fucking universe and into the next.

 

Thank lord for consistencies?

 

“You look good, Jae,” there’s only a handful of people who could pull off leaning on a bathroom door and still looking good, Yuta was, unfortunately, one of those people. If he was still seventeen, Jaehyun’s heart, body, mind, soul, penis, parents and neighbourhood would be saying fuck yes, but now that he’s no longer writing ‘Nakamoto Jaehyun’ and ‘Jung Yuta’ onto every single flat surface he can get his hands on, there’s just a little more logic and a little less stupidity fuelling his actions.

 

“Thanks man, you too,” there, that’s it, go for an ice-cool, suave approach, something that says, yeah we can be friends, that’s snazzy mate, that’s fly.

 

“I’ve been watching you with him, you know,” he shrugs himself off the doorframe, strolling forwards and wrapping both arms around Jaehyun’s waist as he washes his hands, one joint at a time. Despite every attempt to delay confrontation, confrontation that didn’t want to be delayed won’t, and there it is, the kiss pressed to his neck, the teeth tugging on his earlobe, the fuck, fuck, shit, shit alarm bells sparking off in his head.

 

“Wouldn’t it drive you nuts too? If you had to see me holding hands with someone else, standing next to them as everybody told us how perfect we looked. Wouldn’t you hate it?”

 

Jaehyun has. Jaehyun has seen Yuta kissing his boyfriends, received texts asking him to not come back for the night because he was going to be ‘busy’, read post after post on their anniversaries about how much they loved each other, about how it was going to be forever. After a while, he learnt to see and hear and read but not to feel- after all, if he was going to cry in bed with pizza every time, he would rarely be out of the house and also he would be very poor. Well, poorer. The only thing worse than being heartbroken was to be heartbroken and poor at the same time. Those two adjectives proved an apt summary of Jaehyun’s life up until it was no longer his life.

 

His own feelings can’t come into this, however, and he’s beginning to realise this more and more. He should live this life the way that this Jaehyun would have lived it, but the fact is that he doesn’t know who this person is, what they like, what they don’t, whether or not they would fall in love with Youngho if given the chance, whether or not Youngho would fall in love with them. How can you mirror the decisions of someone you never knew? There’s no time to think, though, Yuta’s still looking at him with furrowed brows and whitened lips, demanding an answer.

 

_Quick, just say something_ , Jaehyun thinks, _please not something stupid_.

 

“Listen,” he begins, turning and wiping his wet hands on his suit pants, “I’ve been hurled through a rip in space and time and into this body as a part of the universe’s grand plan to fuck with me continuously and in increasingly shittier ways. What I mean is- I’m not actually your boyfriend so if you could stop aggressively cuddling me that would be great thanks.”

 

Yuta pulls away, gaping.

 

‘Not something stupid’ was a severely unachievable goal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it has been far longer than a week. Sorry for the decade I took, but here's the (kind of crappy, not very exciting) chapter I spewed out. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Also thank you for your lovely comments, sending internet embraces.


	3. Part III: Love for Dummies

“What,” is the first thing Yuta says.

 

On the bright side, he was no longer draped over Jaehyun like a monkey attempting to get its back scratched, but the flushed cheeks and ecstatic grin didn’t bode for anything too great. Instant regret. How the fuck was he going to explain this now? Spouting bullshit had never been a talent of his.

 

“So… how does it work?” Yuta’s voice has lost its previous gentleness, reverting to a crisp, clipped snap. “How much does he pay you? Where is he now? Did he say anything-”, he cuts himself off abruptly, shifting his weight back in acute discomfort, “why did he leave?”

 

“Uh….”

 

This was a fantastic response. Jaehyun’s gears clog up irreversibly, hammering out thoughts such as ‘that window looks big enough for me to hurl myself out of’ and ‘what if I pretended to pass out right now’ instead of actually useful replies.

 

By now, Yuta’s eyebrows had become one with his hairline, and his lips curve down in obvious displeasure. Of course, in the days where Jaehyun had first arrived, they’d had their awkward days, though that was appearing to now be the product of a couple’s tiff rather than the unfamiliarity he’d once believed it to be- this accusing resentment, however, was much, much worse.

 

“He didn’t pay me,” he manages after a long stagnant silence, pitched in a way that made him want to wrestle a bear and smash a car to regain his manliness. Why is it that every time he was faced with bitch ass Nakamoto he seemed to lose all his dignity?

 

“What do you mean?” It’s the first time he’s heard any version of Yuta speak to him in such a snappish, curt tone and okay, he’ll admit, his heart has officially been wounded, but it occurs to him that this could potentially mean he could freely romance Youngho without dreaming up naked baby Cupids wagging their little fingers at him disapprovingly as a result. All this alternate universe garbage was going to give him an aneurysm.

 

“I mean what I said, dude, I’m not your Jaehyun, but he didn’t pay me to do this, although I wish somebody would. This is still his body, but it’s me inside, like a body swap, or something else magical. You feel me aye?” He’d said ‘aye’ to Youngho once, the glare he’d gotten in response sent happy tingles to Jung Junior, that had been one of the best moments of his life. Yuta, in stark contrast, eyes him with utter disbelief and takes a shaky step backwards.

 

“I…” he was doing a great impression of a goldfish, “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Man, believe what you want,” Jaehyun throws both hands up in the air, he’s been trying his best not to cross any lines with Yuta, neither pushing him away nor reciprocating his enthusiasm in fear that it would affect their relationship, but now Yuta was one eyebrow quirk away from decking him and he just needed to book it fuck out of there before this nose meets the same fate as his old nose did. “Just… no more kissing and shit. You have a rocking bod and a nice face but-” at Yuta’s progressively stonier expression, he presses his lips together and gulps, “never mind, I’ll shut up.”

 

Silence.

 

Jaehyun exhales with a shaky laugh, “righty-o, I’m just going to,” he edges towards the exit conspicuously, “take my leave.”

 

A hand darts out to encircle his bicep in a grip that has made greater men cup their balls protectively, but Jaehyun is not phased, no, no, no, he was going to face adversity with astounding courage and confidence, he was going to meet his confrontation head on, he was-

 

“Please punch lightly,” his eyes squeeze together in anticipation for impact, but it never comes, instead, he feels the first button on his dress shirt being undone and a light breeze on his right nipple. This, all in all, ranks second on his list of uncomfortable encounters, right after that time he walked in on his calculus teacher practising his seductive key drop as a part of his grand plan to woo their dean. That is a sight that has starred in every single one of his recurring nightmares since high school.

 

“You are him,” no more wind on his nipples, when he opens his eyes, Yuta was at least two meter away and was frowning so hard the creases looked like they would get permanently get stuck on his face, “you have the birthmark.”

 

“Uh-huh.” He opens his mouth to provide a more detailed explanation now that the elder didn’t seem half a second away from drop kicking him through the champagne tower out in the hall, but the echoing sound of footsteps sends a harsh jolt through him, he pushes Yuta into a nearby stall and slams the door shut.

 

“Jaehyun, are you still in here?” Youngho pushes the door open halfway, expression relaxing as he spots Jaehyun standing next to the trashcan, looking a little sheepish, “you’ve been gone for a while, are you alright?”

 

Concern was a good look on Youngho, Jaehyun thinks from his state as a molten puddle on the floor.

 

“Yeah,” he reaches out and threads their fingers together, staring at their pressed together palms with a pleased smile, “let’s go.”

 

There it was again, the lip twitch, the bashful avoidance of eye contact, evident even in the shitty lightning of the bathroom. Jaehyun has never been particularly good at school, but if they offered a course on Youngho he would excel, or maybe not, since he would be too busy salivating to do much else. Can’t blame him, Youngho was a knockout. He wanted to climb all over that like a horny chimp on a motherfucking tree.

 

Yuta arrives back in the main hall ten minutes after they do. They exchange a glance from over the chocolate fountain, and Jaehyun knows with absolute certainty that the worse is definitely yet to come.

 

 

 

 

The peculiar thing is, whereas Jaehyun acted brash and forward and, he’ll admit, a little stupid at times, Youngho was careful and calculative- but when peeling back skin to reveal all the vulnerable parts of themselves, Youngho inexplicably found it much, much easier.

 

Jaehyun asks him a question.

 

“What would you have done, if you hadn’t gone into business?”

 

Youngho replies.

 

“I think I would’ve liked to be a public defender,” at Jaehyun’s look of surprise, he shrugs, continuing, “there’s something nice about fighting for the little guy, I guess, maybe because I’ve spent all my life dealing with the big.”

 

“I’d have pegged you for a tortured poet or something, dude, but a public defender. Man, that’s admirable,” he grins, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, “mine’s sort of unimpressive, I guess, I’ve always wanted to be a zookeeper.”

 

“You would have made a good one,” comes Youngho’s voice in the dark, a tender stroke of regret. For a moment, Jaehyun wants to turn and say something profound. Jaehyun wanted to tell him he was hella good looking even if just for the sake of seeing him turn his face into the pillow and mumble incoherently. Jaehyun wanted to reach over and feel the ridges of his spine under his fingers, map out love along his arteries, chase the shivers down his body. Jaehyun wanted to like him fairly and squarely.

 

“Hey, dude,” he whispers some time later, after a while of imagining trashy romance novel scenarios of him and Youngho in his head (one of which may or may not have inexplicably included Youngho being a merman with a huge blue penis) whilst pretending to be asleep. Youngho doesn’t stir, breathing steadily.

 

If he didn’t take this opportunity now he would be an idiot, so Jaehyun slides off the bed and pads towards the desk where the markers were kept. His diabolical college experience has paid off after all, he cackles.

 

Youngho wakes up with both his nipples made into flowers and a five centimetre thick mono-brow that rose so far up his forehead it almost became one with his hairline, looking as handsome as ever.

 

 

 

 

 

The state of Jaehyun and Youngho’s marriage is at a strange and dizzy middle ground.

 

They didn’t quite act like friends- there was too much spooning and aggressive flirting and accidental nudity (the bathroom didn’t have a lock- Jaehyun is grateful for small miracles). On the other hand, they couldn’t constitute as a married couple either- Youngho was still reserved more often than not, running as Jaehyun chased. Except, within the apartment walls there was really nowhere to run, so they went in circles instead, but the thing with running in circles was that Jaehyun could simply stand still, and Youngho would eventually loop his way back to him.

 

That moment is happening right now.

 

They’re on the couch while a rerun of some drama or another played on the television, it’s evident that neither are paying it much attention. Youngho seems absorbed in his own thoughts, staring at the coffee table like he was trying to make it levitate from sheer willpower, radiating nervous energy that in turn makes Jaehyun shift in anxiety. They sit next to each other, not quite cuddling, but not _not_ cuddling either. Youngho doesn’t seem to notice Jaehyun’s conspicuous attempts to edge closer, more focused on opening a small waterfall down his forehead instead.

 

“What are we?” He blurts just as the female lead begins to sob on screen. Instantly, Jaehyun feels as though the frustration of the past few months have finally all been rewarded. This is it, this is the moment all the stars align to give birth to the romance of the century. Youngho was finally letting go of the broiling product of years emotional constipation and talking about his feelings. Youngho is going to be the love of his life. Youngho is-

 

Youngho looks ready to smash through brick walls to get away. It occurs to him that he’d been sitting there in broiling in his own elation for far too long.

 

“You’re my lil fluffer nutter bird,” he coos, pinching Youngho’s cheek lightly, “and I would very much likes to kiss you now.”  

 

“Oh thank god,” he breathes, a shaky laugh huffing out almost reflexively and for the first time his minute lip twitch blooms into a doughy smile, making his eyes crinkle up until they disappear. He looked a little like someone from Whoville, cheeks all puffed out and teeth on display. If Jaehyun had known that this was what it took to get him to smile like that, he would’ve been parading around naked with holding up a sign reading ‘SEO YOUNGHO: DO ME NOW’ a long, long time ago.

 

So, that’s how it happens, Jaehyun’s first kiss, on a sofa with a disinterested dog drooling by two meters away, wearing a Duck Dynasty shirt and Spiderman boxers. Their teeth clack and nose mush together in a move that would make everyone in the North Hemisphere cringe instantly, they’re both (technically) pushing thirty but still such inexperienced losers that it’s almost pathetic instead of hilarious- but that’s alright, at least they can be inexperienced losers together.

 

“That was fucking awesome,” he mumbles, a little delirious as he pulls away, both hands twisted into Youngho’s faded frat shirt.

 

To his credit, Youngho doesn’t comment on either of their total lack of skill, ducking his head a little bashfully. His eyes flicker up towards Jaehyun’s face and back down to his lap continuously, up and down, up and down. It takes more time than is acceptable for Jaehyun to realise what he wants.

 

“Oh,” he huffs a laugh when he finally does, leaning in and bumping their noses together affectionately. From another universe, Chittaphon and Yuta must be simultaneously throwing up, Jaehyun himself didn’t think he’d descend to this level of gross intimacy. How much post-endorphins Jaehyun would like to deck the him of right now is debatable, unfortunately, ‘a lot’ is looking to be the most likely option.

 

Youngho makes a low sound at the back of his throat that makes Jaehyun’s scalp tingle in a strange sort of way, nobody knows this except for him, but from the moment that Youngho clumsily gripped his arm and nearly bashed their incisors together there’s been a voice shrieking at the back of his head. On the outside though, he’s going to act cool and calm, using all his suave debonair charms to woo Youngho and sweep him off his feet, he’s going to-

 

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Youngho says and motherfucker, fuck suave and debonair, he’ll be happy as long as he doesn’t start bawling right about now.

 

_You’re not really mine to fall in love with_ , is what he doesn’t say, because Youngho’s shy smile aimed towards a spot below his neck as he tries to avoid eye contact in a fashion resembles more mild embarrassment than apprehension. It strikes him then that, for all his reservations and hesitation, Youngho had never truly believed that Jaehyun would break his heart.

 

He’d placed the same confidence in someone else before, but Yuta had ploughed right past his timid hints to go make out with Dong Si Cheng right in the middle of a Burger King. Which, apart from being incredibly classy, was also just terrifying. For a while afterwards, Jaehyun had wanted to bury his face in the dirt like a flamingo and just never integrate back into mankind, but two Star Wars marathon and an unsympathetic phone call from Chittaphon telling him to go to a strip club and, quote, ‘get some love rubbing’, made him reluctantly trudge back into his old routine.

 

After that, loving Yuta became a habit rather than a novelty.

 

He’d done it for so long that he almost didn’t know how not to anymore. It became a fact; like the sky was blue, the sun is hot, Jung Jaehyun was in love with Nakamoto Yuta. Of course, Yuta never had any responsibility to take care of his feelings and, somewhere between his Facebook status change to ‘in a relationship’ and getting caught having sex on the dorm floor wearing a cow onesie, Jaehyun accepted that he was going to end up alone, adopt a few dogs and turtles and shit, then live out his mid-life crisis in a small brick house in the countryside planting peppers recreationally.

 

_I think I’m falling in love with you._

That’s what he’d said, right, that night after the frat party they’d gone to as college freshmen, after Jaehyun had towed a smashed Yuta back to the dorms and tucked him into bed. He’d looked at way Yuta’s hair fell into his eyes, the soft line of his mouth in the darkness, couldn’t resist brushing fingers across his cheek, whispering a quiet _I’ve fallen in love with you._

Jaehyun looks at Youngho, at the hopeful tilt of his lips, the red dusting the tops of his ears; makes a split-second decision- that no hearts are fucking breaking around here.

 

“Already?” He grins, pressing a soft kiss to Youngho’s lips, “damn, I’m good.”

 

From across the room, Bilbo finally lifts his head from where he’d been dozing, eyeing them both with a look of utter disgust.

 

 

 

 

Friday, shit hits the fan and gets flung around the room in a riot of disaster.

 

As with most disasters these days, this one starts with Yuta at his front door.

 

“What the fuck,” he panics, slamming the door shut behind him, “its ten at night, dude, Youngho is at home, _why are you here_?”

 

“You’re not lying, are you?” Yuta doesn’t seem to hear him, or at least ignores him if he does, eyes wide and close to hysterical. He had the look of someone who hadn’t slept in at least forty-eight hours, hands trembling slightly and face pale.

 

“No, I’m not,” he reaches out to stabilise Yuta when he sags, swaying violently on his feet, “whoa, bro, are you okay? Maybe we should talk about this when you’re not yea close to dying.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it later,” he slurs, frowning, “I want to do it _now_.”

 

“Are you-”Jaehyun leans in to sniff at his shirt, “are you fucking drunk?”

 

“No, you’re drunk,” what a convincing argument, “your mum’s drunk, your entire neighbourhood is drunk but I’m. Not. Drunk.” Each word was punctuated with a jab to the chest.

 

“Yeah man, whatever makes you happy, come on, I- Jesus, can you walk?” Evidently not, since Yuta was now attempting to scale the walls like he was Spiderman, if Spiderman was pushing thirty and smashed off his face instead of Tom Holland.

 

“Jaehyun?”

 

Usually, he’d be waving posters and air humping if Youngho was calling for him, but romance was really the last thing he was thinking about now. Maybe he could store Yuta in the elevator for a bit, but before he could so much as gently suggest that Yuta get the fuck out of Youngho’s line of fire, the door swings open and one very handsome face emerges.

 

Youngho is wearing a white shirt, and _hot damn_ , now is really not the best time to get an erection.

 

“Hey, look,” Yuta cheers, flopping into Jaehyun’s chest like a dead fish, pointing a wavering finger at Youngho who had gone rigid with what looked like ill contained anger, “it’s your new huuussssbbbaannd.”

 

Then, as though things couldn’t have possibly become any worse, he looks at Jaehyun with watery eyes and then begins to bawl.

 

“Uh,” perhaps if he’d shrugged and made a self-adoring joke about being irresistible instead of looking guiltily at the ceiling Youngho’s mouth would stop turning down at the edges so much. They stand there, and Youngho stares fixedly at the floor, knuckles going white around the doorknob.

 

“Should I… call him a taxi?” He mutters, trying and failing to pry Yuta’s arms off.

 

Youngho throws him a furious glower, looking unabashedly plaintive and wronged.

 

“Do whatever the fuck you want to,” he snarls, “why don’t you just fucking bring him inside, why doesn’t he just fucking move in. He can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” With that, he slams the door shut in blatant contradiction to his own words, footsteps loud and clear as he assumedly marches to the bedroom. The message was clear- if Jaehyun dared to actually bring him inside, then none of them would be having a good time.

 

“I-is he mad?” Yuta raises his head, blinking blearily, “I think he’s maaad.”

 

Jaehyun sighs, one problem at the time.

 

“Alright princess,” he untangles himself from the limbs Yuta had wrapped around him, bending down and picking him up bridal style, “you’re going home.”

 

By the time they arrive at Yuta’s one room apartment, a twenty minute drive away, he’d sobered up considerably, having stopped the driver twice to throw up in some bushes by the road. Jaehyun holds his hair back and pats his back like he’s always done, but the familiarity feels… foreign, strange, even, like walking out onto water expecting to sink but floating instead, like rain being pulled upwards from the ground, like switching to a new brand of shampoo then smelling your own hair and thinking ‘wait… oranges?’.

 

Just as he’s turning to leave after putting Yuta down on the bed, a hand shoots out and grips his wrist.

 

“Stay,” Yuta whispers, almost inaudible even in the silence, “just for a while.”

 

Jaehyun pulls his hand out of his grasp gently, “you know I can’t.” He replies, but makes no move for the door. Partially because he didn’t want to go home and face Youngho’s disappointment but also because he could feel it, years of an unrequited _something_ leaking from his cells and seeping into the floors, if he walked out now, he would be taking some of it with him, if he stayed, then perhaps he could leave all of it here.

 

He sits on the edge of Yuta’s bed tentatively, waiting for something to say.

 

“You know,” Yuta huffs good naturedly, “when you first told me, I wasn’t scared or shocked or even disbelieving, I was just relieved.”

 

Jaehyun’s finger fiddle restlessly with the edge of the blanket, smoothing it out before crumpling it up again. “So you understand that I’m not him, that I’m not from here, that he can’t be held accountable for my actions, if he comes back.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he continues when Yuta stays quiet, staring him at steadily, “I don’t know how to be him, I’m afraid. I only know how to be me.”

 

“I don’t blame you,” Yuta blurts, what little of the alcohol still remaining in his bloodstream making his words too fast and a little jumbled, “I did for a while, at the beginning. I was so, so angry, at you, at me, at Youngho but I know I shouldn’t be. I know you didn’t choose this. Really, did any of us?”

 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silent again.

 

“Can-” his voice breaks, that was just embarrassing, Jaehyun clears his throat, “can you tell me something about him?”

 

Yuta looks at him a little wistfully, tilting his head, lips curving into a fond smile as he speaks, “Jaehyun is… he’s lovely, really. I’ve known him since we were children, he’s clumsy, though you wouldn’t guess it if you hadn’t seen him in the kitchen. He’d always been better than me at school, but he was… ambivalent, I guess, on inheriting the family business, he wanted to be a florist.”

 

“He’s a really picky eater, he likes orange juice in the mornings and milk at night. He hates egg yolk and avocado. He likes the volume on the television to always be at twenty-five even if it’s so quiet you can’t even hear it if there’s the slightest bit of traffic outside. When we were twelve he picked out the ring he was going to buy me when we get married, it’s…” he glances down at Jaehyun’s finger, “not that one. he’s terrifying, really, an absolute menace.”

 

“Wow… dude,” Jaehyun laughs lightly, a little awkwardly, “that’s… you sound like you’re really in love with him.”

 

Yuta smiles, not at him, not at anything in particular- just a smile, honest and open and vulnerable.

 

“I am.”

 

When Jaehyun does stand to leave, its already one o’clock. Yuta watches him as he goes.

 

“Jaehyun,” he calls out just as he’s about to open the door, “is there anybody there- where you came from, I mean- to take care of him?”

 

Jaehyun freezes, thinks about his Yuta, the way he’d scold Jaehyun for eating ramen for four days in a row, the blankets he brought from home to throw over him and Chittaphon whenever they fell asleep at their desks cramming for exams, the way he marched around the hallways during high school just daring people to stay a word about Jaehyun’s rampant pubescent acne. Sure, Yuta had never fallen in love with him, but nobody could accuse him of not loving him.

 

“Yeah,” he finally chokes out, the universe shifting on its axis, “of course.”

 

Jaehyun shuts the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

That fiasco might have been sorted out, but another one was waiting for him at home.

 

It was a tragedy, he was outside the apartment door at ass o’clock in the middle of the night, wearing donut slippers and a Naruto shirt, pumping himself up to go knock on his own door. Youngho was probably going to murder him. That’ll look really bad on both their records.

 

After ten minutes, the door swings open forcibly, banging onto the wall at volumes that was sure to earn them annoyed pipe clanging from downstairs. That was dutifully ignored, however, in favour of smiling charmingly at his husband.

 

“Hey big boy.”

 

That was just… lame. That was lame, there was no other word for it, it was the lamest thing that he’s ever said, tied with that one time he asked his teacher through which hole he was going to squeeze out a baby back when he was five. He had informative but misleading parents, which made for the worst known combination.

 

Youngho’s eyebrow twitches, in either amusement or homicidal intent.

 

“So… are we going to have angry sex now?” Jaehyun says hopefully, batting his eyelashes in what was meant to be a seductive manner. Perhaps he was out of practise, since Youngho presses his lips together firmly and yanks him inside in a less than sexy way, the move seeming less of a prelude to happy golden gay times than a scolding.

 

“Sit down.”

 

How ominous.

 

He sits on the edge of the couch gingerly, clasping his hands together and grinning sheepishly when Youngho looks at him. From beside the heater, Bilbo creaks his eyes open lazily, giving a slight wag of the tail in acknowledgement before promptly falling back asleep.

 

“I don’t want to go in circles with you, Jaehyun, I just-” Youngho runs a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly, “I just can’t figure out if you feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I need you to tell me right now if you don’t. I know people don’t like labels nowadays, but I need you to tell me what this is, what we’re going to be.”

 

The grin falls right off.

 

Had they not established with the ‘fluffer nutter bird’ and kissing that they were together now- _together_ together. Had his flirting been so inexplicit that Youngho still did not realise? Perhaps he should amp it up with the nicknames and pick up lines. Maybe he should buy him a huge ass teddy bear- guys liked teddy bears, right?

 

Perhaps, subconsciously, he’d been deliberately edging around the subject, never giving Youngho an outright confession. How could he though? When it wasn’t even his confession to make. What if tomorrow this Jaehyun woke up back in his own body, draped over Youngho’s chest and drooling on it, what would he do then? What would _Youngho_ do then? He didn’t want to be responsible for two more decades of emotional constipation.

 

“Let’s be friends, then,” he holds out a hand, “let’s be friends, let’s date, let’s be in love then let’s get married.”

 

They shake on it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, it has been a century. 
> 
> I'm sorry guys! Exams are next + next-next week so I've been cramming hard out because I've slept through pretty much all my classes this year. If anybody does speciation then HALP ME :') 
> 
> Next chapter will probably be the last one, this story was really self indulgent and pointless. Pretty much just an opportunity to continuously talk about how hot Youngho is. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Y'all are super uber mega fucking nice, I'm not crying, okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! After approximately a century I've finally started something that's not a complete pile of crap (amongst those that are, including a thing about fish that I will not be accounted for). This will probably be around 4 chapters and nothing is prewritten so updates might come a bit slow (let's aim for once a week, if not, come swear at me). 
> 
> Thank you so sO SO much for reading! Sending love via pigeon mail...


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